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a.
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Note: homas4, Thomas3, Gabriel2, Gabriel1)
born November 22, 1876 in Elizabeth, NJ
died July 15, 1969 Goshen, N.Y., buried Green-Wood Cemetery Brooklyn, NY
Howard was nine years old when the Brooklyn Bridge opened, and he later recalled watching the celebration from the roof of 301 Pearl Street, close by the Manhattan piers. He began working at Leggett Bros. on Pearl Street, but disliked it immensely. With his Uncle Clinton, he visited Washington, D.C. in September 1925, for his cousin Milton William Leggett's marriage to Lucile McKee Showalter, daughter of a former Pennsylvania congressman. When the family business closed in 1927 upon the death of his father, he retired from business, removing to Goshen, New York, center of the horse breeding country--he was a great lover of horses. During 20 of the 42 years he lived in Goshen, he made his home in a tiny makeshift trailer, first on the Ellen Clark farm and later on the Milburn farm, where he kept a goat and some geese as well as a number of horses which he rode daily until he was unable to do so. He was fond of making quill pens, discussing horses, and agriculture. All his life, Howard was an active member of the Presbyterian Church, frequently walking long distances to be in his place in the Goshen congregation every Sunday.
First Presbyterian Church?
Address: Goshen, NY 10924
Telephone: 845-294-7991
First Presbyterian Church
http://apps.pcusa.org/churches
Howard's last years were spent at Sunset Haven near Ridgebury.
Family record of the Rev. John M. Leggett
Birth year of 1875 on Howard's stone is in conflict with the correct year (1876) on the central monument in the plot; his death date was never inscribed on the latter. For Howard's 1938 affidavit regarding this plot, see Benjamin W. Clapp's entry.
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[Boarding with the Clarks 1930 Census]
A handwritten letter from sometime in December, 1968
118 Murray Ave.
Goshen 10924
New York.
Dear Mr. Aitken
I took your letter up to Mr. Leggett to-day & noted you would have a new address after January 15 but was not sure of what some part of it was, so would you please print it & send it to me.
Mr. Leggett has been in a nursing home since last Jan 2 At that time we did not think he would live long as he was quite ill & up to now has no recollection of us taking him there. However his general health is good, but mind fails more and more. My daughter & I go to see him every week. It is 10 miles from Goshen Mr. Milton Leggett & his wife have been to see him twice this year. They live in Pittsburgh & Edna Drummond has been up twice. Mr. Milton Leggett had the power of atty given me a couple of years ago, so when the time came I could take care of things for him, which I last Jan to see that he gets the things he needs. The home is very nice, out in the country & a very cheerful bright place. He has plenty of room to walk about & on Sunday a taxi brings him in to church, for that is the one thing above all others he wants to do. It is all very gay at the home for they have decorated inside and out for the holidays & there are 6 other men there & several women & they all have dinner etc together. Do please send me the address printed please & I will take it to him & then maybe he could write to you
Yours Truly
Mrs. Ellen Clarke
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Howard Leggett preferred his own quill pens
[from the Goshen, New York newspaper, Independent Republican, sometime in August, 1969]
Howard C. Leggett rated more than a perfunctory obituary when he died three weeks ago. But, though he had lived in the town of Goshen 42 years and was by no means a recluse, few people knew him and few were aware of his fascinating recollections, odd abilities and varied knowledge and interests.
Howard Leggett had learned to substitute a few warm friends for the close relatives he did not have. He had learned to live satisfactorily with his memories, even when there was seldom anyone to share them with and when it seemed to an outsider he had little to live for. He was tall, straight, a gentleman to the core, ignoring and almost making his guest forget the evidences of the near-poverty in which he lived. And this, of course, was part of and proof of his gentility.
His home was for many a year a tiny makeshift trailer, first on the Clark farm off Goshen`s Reservoir Road, the sightly place that Arthur Dross has owned in recent years and lately sold. When Mrs. Ellen Clark sold and moved into Goshen village, Mr. Leggett moved to the Milburn farm and lived there until several months ago when his years, which were more than 90, persuaded him to give up housekeeping in a trailer and live at Sunset Haven near Ridgebury.
Church was important to Howard Leggett, and from the Clark and Milburn place he walked in to the Presbyterian service every Sunday and hired transportation back, or vice versa, after a trip to the Post Office. On Thursday he also came in for mail and a visit to the late Peter Goode for pleasant conversation about horses and farm equipment. Latterly from Sunset Haven he came by cab regularly to church in Goshen until shortly before his death.
I had admired Mr. Leggett a longtime before I really made his acquaintance. I sought him out in 1960 when I learned from the late Jerry Rosa that the courtly gentleman recalled the opening of the Brooklyn Bridge, which had lately celebrated its 75th anniversary.
When the bridge opened, Leggett was a small boy who saw and heard everything from the roof of the family hardware and farm supply store at 301 Pearl St. which was almost under the New York end of the marvelous suspension span. Pearl is one of New York`s oldest streets and once a good neighborhood.
The Leggett location was more specifically Peck`s Slip when the business was established there in 1793. It continued at the same place until dissolution in 1927.
But the Brooklyn Bridge dedication was such a small part of what I learned from Mr. Leggett! I wrote that a casual acquaintance is apt to end a conversation with him in a state of pleasant bewilderment, wanting to know more about every topic he mentioned.
One most unexpected result of my visit was a story about what I called Leggett`s Pen Factory. Really, Leggett was both manufacturer and only customer. He made and used quill pens, and the producer of the raw materials was an aging goose on the Milburn farm. Leggett watched for the feather he knew it would drop--in a different place each night, and then he trimmed and shaped it to his liking. He`d take a quill in preference to a fine steel point any day; "It`s the finest writing tool a man can ask for," said Leggett. Try it next time your goose sheds a quill.
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Continuation of Letter No. 15 of Howard's grandfather, Thomas B. Leggett, to his grandson, from the entry of Howard's mother, Georgiannna Clapp. All such surviving letters may be found by consulting the chart under the Notes for Thomas:
...happened to be open, they would come in the room, stand about as still and straight as young pine trees, fold their arms, and not move a muscle or utter a sound. They would stand and wait until food was brought them, when they would leave as they came, too proud to beg, too lazy to work, and too ungrateful to thank you. The Indian is never surprised at anything he sees and never ashamed at whatever may happen, and has been proved to be never forgetting and never forgiving, always cruel and revengeful, and ever brutal, treacherous to all, and having mercy for none.
Paint for houses was an unknown article to the colonies, the earliest known house paint in this country was a red paint brought from England, so at one period of our country's history there were many houses that never had a coat of paint on them, and every house that was painted at all, was this red color. I can very well remember when this was the prevailing color used in the country for both houses and barns, and to this day you will often see houses and barns painted in red.
The old building I have been writing about had originally been painted with this English red color, but age and time with the many winter storms had worn it off and faded it out with only a little spot here and there that been protected was left just to show what it had been.
Two hundred years ago in our country, every small settlement or large plantation, for their own protection, were compelled to have a strong building of stone and logs, with a roof as strong as the building, so when the report came that the Indians were gathering their tribes for a raid on the village, the families could seek safety in this building. During the cold winters when there was much snow on the ground, the hungry bears and wolves would be very troublesome. They would come down from the hills to seek for food in packs often as many as six or eight in a pack. If the women and children can get safely in the building, the men will go out in a body to meet these dreadful beasts when a great slaughter will take place. Our ancestors lived in dreadful exciting times; they were always on the alert, on the watch and were never safe from danger. We may therefore be ever thankful our lot in life is cast in a different age, when our country is settled and peaceful, and when the brutal and treacherous savage is no longer among us, and the merciless bears and cruel wolves are no more to be dreaded.
This old cider mill I have been so particular to speak about, as strong as it was built and as durable as were the materials which it was composed of, had at last to succumb and give away to old age. The great door that was made so strong as to resist time and the elements for so many years, now rested helplessly against the old building, the wood rotted away that held the nails, the large heavy hinges hanging loose upon them, but those English made wrought nails were there and just as sound as the day they were made. The thick and solid cedar slabs that were so firmly fastened to those heavy rafters were now by the action of the storms of many winters and the heat of long summers, twisted and bent, cracked and split; and the heavy timbers for rafters had settled down by their own great weight, and twisted all out of shape. The sheathing on the outside that was nailed on so strong, had become weatherbeaten, cracked and split and honeycombed by the many holes made by the bees and wasps. They also were hanging loose upon the wrought nails, and that solid foundation also showed that time with the elements and winter frosts had done its work, for that was all out of plumb, and like all the buildings at last had to give away to old age and time and be like the "Wonderful One Hoss Shay," fall to pieces in a single day; and so ends my story of this old cider mill, which is so full of interesting Indian history, that every stone, stick and nail of which it was composed could tell a thrilling story.
I do not know, of course, how well you are informed as to the early history of our country, but I will say the early settlers were composed of both men and women of sterling worth, and strong religious faith who fled from England to escape religious persecution, to seek a home in the wilds of America that they might enjoy liberty from persecution and the free worship of God after the dictates of their own conscience.
Now do you know the people of that age, and those times, and it is only some two hundred and seventy years ago, had no such things as table knives and forks, and used their fingers at table to eat with, for that was the usual custom of the times? Now if there were no such things as knives and forks, how differently could they act? In those days every man carried in his belt a short dagger or heavy sheath knife, sheathed in leather. This knife was used for all purposes as well as cutting their meat at table. As a general thing the meat was divided into morsels before appearing on the table. If it were a roasted pig, goose or ham, each would slice off with his sheath knife what he fancied for himself. The plates or trenchers were all of wood or pewter. I will say their musket was their handy companion both by day and night. If cutting wood, it was within easy reach; if ploughing, it was slung over the shoulder; if coming or going to or coming from the little church, it was held for instant action, and while in church they were stacked near the door, ready to be grasped at a moment's notice; while sleeping, it rested at their head, ready to be called at the slightest clamor; and this is the manner in which our great great grandfather lived and struggled for life and liberty. What we in this age enjoy with so little thought or care of their anxieties and sufferings!
You can well imagine in your own mind what must have been the fears and sufferings of those delicate women and sickly children in a new country only known to the Red Man of the woods and the beast of the forest, surrounded by all that was hostile to them with poor and scanty food, few if any comforts, no luxuries of any kind, wretchedly housed and scantily clothed, dependent on their own strong arms and brave hearts to protect themselves and families from constant attack of the Indians while they were building their log cabins and clearing the land for cultivation. The picture is certainly not a pleasant one to think of. The first table fork ever seen in England (and that was a small two pronged one) was presented to Queen Elizabeth about the year 1580. It was only looked upon in those days as a curiosity, for the Queen and all her people universally used their fingers to eat with. I will here digress a little from my story, for I cannot allow Queen Elizabeth to pass without saying a few words regarding her.
Elizabeth was the youngest daughter of Henry the VIII and Anne Boleyn, born September 7, 1553. When she was but three years old, her mother was beheaded and at the age of thirteen in 1547, her father died. On the death of her father in 1547, her older sister Mary, often called Bloody Mary from her many cruelties, succeeded to the throne. Mary was a wicked Catholic and very cruel to her younger sister Elizabeth who was a Protestant. On the death of Bloody Mary in 1558, Elizabeth became Queen in her 25th year of age and continued to reign for 45 years, when she died March 24, 1603, having lived nearly seventy years. During the reign of Elizabeth, the English nation threw off the Catholic yoke which had been an incubus on them for many years and took its position before the nations of the earth as a Protestant power which she has maintained to this day. Elizabeth was known as "Good Queen Bess." During her reign no war was undertaken for the sake of territorial conquest; her policy was peace, economy and the building up of the English nation. The one great shame and disgrace during her reign was the unfeeling treatment to her cousin, Mary Queen of Scots, and the signing with her own hand of the death warrant for her decapitation. The life of Mary Queen of Scots was one of sad tragedy; she was a beautiful, refined, foolish, weak woman, a bigoted Catholic, entirely under the power and influence of her church. The reign of the present Queen Victoria of England has been likened to that of Queen Elizabeth. Both had unsullied reputations and reigned for a long number of years. Both held to the Protestant faith and elevated the honor and dignity of the nation. One of these days you will read with great interest the lives of these two queens, the life of Mary Queen of Scots you will find intensely interesting.
During the early settlement of our country, forks and knives for the table were not used, the common steel two pronged fork was not introduced until about two hundred years ago and the three pronged steel fork not until some years later. The silver fork that is now used was not known up to 1800 and not generally used in families for some years later. I well remember when both the two and three pronged horn handled forks and knives were used in families. Pins that are now so cheap and plentiful and to be found in every family, when I was a boy were all made in England and every single pin was made by hand. They were bits of hard wire filed to a point and having a very thin wire twisted on the top for a head. Some were made of iron, others of brass and others a very poor article of coated wire. The nice smooth and well pointed pin with a solid head that we have is made by machinery and patented in 1824 but was not make perfect and did not interfere with the English pin for many years later. I have heard my mother [Margaret Peck Wright Leggett, (1794-1878)] say that during the War of 1812, when the English laid an embargo on all our ports so nothing could come into the country or go out of it, pins and needles became so scarce in the different families, her old grandmother cut up an old pincushion which she had used for many years and found in it enough to supply the family until the war was over. As the article of coffee was never heard of in England until about the year 1666 and the article of tea was not introduced until the 1671, there was no use for such articles now known as the teapot, coffee pot with cups and saucer. As the pilgrims came over in the ships "Mayflower", "Fortune", "Anne" and the "Little James" in the year 1620, more than fifty years before tea or coffee were known in England, as a matter of course they never heard of tea or coffee. Sugar was only known in England in the sixteenth century and was then only a dark, thick kind of molasses and used only by the noble and rich. It could not be expected that much of it found its way to this poor country in the early days. I can well remember myself when we had but three kinds of sugar in this country. The best kind, and what we used for tea and coffee, was known as white loaf sugar, made in the shape of a cone and weighing some fifty pounds. This sugar would compare with our cut lump sugar with this difference, that the loaf sugar was as hard as flint stone, and the only way we could break it up in small irregular lumps was by a hammer and chisel. When I was a boy, I had many a time hammered away on one of these hard cones to cut it up for my mother. Of the two other kinds of sugar, one was a dirty white color, very soft and sticky. I know that when the barrel was put in a dry, warm place, it would pack so hard we would have to take an axe to break it, and then it would crumble and be just like dry sand. The other sugar was very dark in color and wet, more like thickened molasses than sugar. Of course all this is changed now. We then had only the dark, thick Jamaica molasses, now we manufacture it into the beautiful golden syrup.
Up to about the year 1776, all clothing used in England and America was made entirely of linen and woolen fabric. There was not a cotton mill in England that made goods entirely out of cotton up to the year 1780. All the muslin used in this country up to about 1800, came from England. The first date of cotton raised in this country was in 1747 and from that year until 1770, we had been able to ship only 16 bales to England. The first cotton mill in this country was built in 1791, and from that year up to 1804, there were but four cotton mills in all our country and they made a very inferior article. The spinning wheel was to be seen in every family up to the year 1800 and much of the materials used in families was spun in their own homes.
I have, myself, seen the spinning wheel in daily use in my grandfather`s house, my old [step]grandmother [Mary Underhill Leggett, (1770-1849); Thomas B.`s actual grandmother was his father`s first wife, Mary Haight, (1762-1804)] sitting in one of the big fireplaces, knitting woolen stockings and a colored girl in the other corner spinning off the linen thread to be worked up into cloth. In fact, the spinning wheel was in use in the northern counties of Scotland as late as the year 1830. I can well remember when all our best muslin came from England, and when I was a boy, it was the only kind used in my father`s family. In fact, when I was a boy, I am safe in saying, if you wanted a good article of any one thing, you would have to buy of English make, for we really did not manufacture anything good here.
I will now tell you about my experience of one cold, stormy winter night I passed at my grandfather`s home when I was but a very young boy. The old people had been passing the day and night with my father and mother [William Haight and Margaret Peck Wright Leggett] when they lived at 521 Broadway away back in the year 1829, now some 63 years ago. When the day came for their return, it was decided I should return with them, for I was a great favorite with my grandfather and he liked to have me with him. Of course I was very happy at the idea of going, and stood ready to get in the carriage, holding my little bag of clothes in my hand. Although my grandfather's place was only some twelve miles away from my father`s city home, it was a long, tiresome ride sixty years ago, from the fact that the roads were always so dreadfully bad and heavy. We had not proceeded far on the road, when the weather suddenly changed, the clouds hung low and darkness was rapidly closing around us. Grandfather several times made the remark that it looked as if we might have an ugly night with high wind. As we turned into his private lane and drove through the gate over the road leading to his house, we saw the bright light shining through the sitting room window to welcome us. Then we alighted and stood on the piazza overlooking the river, all about us was quite dark and dull looking, the wind was coming up in little puffs from over the river, making a most doleful noise as it soughed and sighed through the branches of the big pine tree which stood at the corner of the gate. I did not like this sad, doleful sound very much, for it appeared so sad and melancholy, but I soon forgot all about it when we entered the large, old fashioned sitting room, with the great open fireplace in which was burning a great fire of hickory logs. It did feel so warm and comfortable after the long, tiresome ride. When the supper was over, and the time came for me to retire for the night, old colored Rose, who has lived all her days on the place, was sent up to my room to wait for me and warmed my bed with the warming pan which was always the custom in those days when the nights were cold. You must remember we had no such comfort as a furnace to warm the halls and rooms as we have now. The room I was to occupy for the night was the spare, back corner one on the second floor. It was a large, cold and empty looking room, having three windows. In the middle of the floor stood an old, highpost, wide bedstead, standing high up from the floor, requiring small steps to enable one get up into it. Along the sides of the wall were
placed four straight-backed hard woolhair cloth chairs; in one corner was a delicately made, three cornered wash stand, with a large bureau and oval looking glass on the wall, which with one small sewing chair, comprised all there was in the room. There were no pictures on the wall nor ornaments of any kind for the reason that there were then but precious few of such things to be had in those days and old fashioned people in the country did not care for them or know much about them. Grandmother lighted a candle that was in a small silver candle stick and handed it to me, wishing me good night, saying old Rose was waiting for me up stairs in my room. She would attend to all my wants and make me comfortable in every way. Opening the sitting room door, I stepped out into the wide, dark, open looking hall, with my single light in my hand; the sitting room door closed behind me and I began to feel lonely, fear came over me, I was cold and trembling as I walked up the wide and winding stair holding on to the banister and looking sharply about me. The shadows from my poor little candle were just enough to picture to me on the walls all sorts of different things and glad enough I was to get to my room and find Old Rose there, bustling about, getting my bed ready. As I looked all around the room, how cold, chilling and lonely it did look to me; such a great space, such a large bedstead, and worst of all, the wide open fireplace. I did not like the idea very much of sleeping there in the dark all alone by myself, but as young as I was, there was too much grit, pride and pluck in me to say a word even to Old Rose. While I was preparing for bed, every few moments the wind would give a sort of grunt down the chimney and the hail and sleet began to beat against the window panes. Old Rose looked at me, saying, "Never mind, honey, that is only the wind and rain. That won`t do you any harm." I did not like it for all that. I was but a few moments getting into my warm bed, which was large enough to hold a half dozen little fellows like me. Old Rose tucked me all up and piled the heavy blankets over me, talking all the time that we were going to have a wild storm, but I would soon be asleep and would know nothing of it, and she would come up in the morning and bring me some warm water to wash with. I made no reply to all her talk, but was feeling very bad about being left alone. Taking up the candle, Old Rose said, "Now good night, Sonnie. Now you just go to sleep right off and you never mind the storm." Then she closed the door and left me to myself in utter darkness, and, Oh, how dark it was. She had been out the door but a few minutes when the most fearful howl came down the large open-mouth fireplace that made me tremble all over and break out in a cold sweat. It sounded as if some dreadful wild beast was screaming down to me in the chimney. This was immediately followed by a long, dull moan, as if the animal was in pain. The next moment the wind burst out in a loud whistle, then it screamed and screeched and made all sorts of frightful noises on the outside north-west corner of the house, on which was my room. The wind had suddenly shifted, blowing out strong from the north-west and coming out bitter cold, shaking the window sash so violently as if determined to blow them out of their casement. The wind was now wild with excitement, it moaned and it howled down the chimney and screeched and screamed outside. I could hear it whistle about the room and feel it blow over my bed. The hail stones struck the window glass with such force that if they had not been small ones and strongly made, would have broken to pieces. It came rattling down the chimney and I could hear it blow and roll over the floor. How I did suffer that evening with fright and the thought of myself home in my own little bed in a warm room. There I was, all alone in that great room, with my head covered over with the bedclothes, in the middle of that large bed, the room as dark as pitch and all these many dreadful noises and sounds about me almost set me wild with fear. At last, from shear fatigue, I fell off into a sound and sweet sleep, and knew nothing more of the dreadful storm, or the wind or hail. When I woke the following morning, it was all quiet in my room, clear and bright outside; the rain had ceased, the wind gone down, the sun was bright, and it was still and biting cold. The air in my room was like ice when I put my head outside the clothes to look around me, my breath froze on my face, my nostrils came together and my forehead pained with the cold. I had not the courage to venture out of my bed to dress myself, fearing I might freeze. At last I said, "This will never do. I must get up, for what will grandfather say if I am not down to breakfast." With this, I jumped out of bed, but the moment my feet touched the cold carpet, my teeth began to chatter, my little fingers became so numb I had not control over them, so I jumped in bed again to get some warmth in me. Fortunately, at this moment, Grandmother cam to the door to tell me it was time to get up, followed by one of the young colored girls, bringing a pitcher of hot water. The moment Grandmother opened the door and came in the room, she exclaimed, "Why how cold it is in this room!" When I told her how I had tried to dress myself, but my fingers became so cold and my teeth chattered, so I had to get in bed again, she started the colored girl down stairs to fix up the wood fire, and putting my stockings and shoes on, and wrapping a blanket all about me, said, "Now run down to the sitting room fire to get warm and dress." You may just make up your mind that fire felt good, and I was more than willing to get out of that cold room and big bed.
My grandfather and grandmother were old folks at this time, being near seventy-five years old, so they were like their house, old-fashioned. [simple Quakers, unlike their son William Haight Leggett, who became an Episcopalian upon his marriage in 1814.] Such houses in the country, sixty years ago, without furnaces or grates, with cold halls and bed rooms were just too cold for our ideas of comfort in these days. In fact, the country people of sixty years ago did not mind the cold as the people of today do. They did not do what they could to make themselves comfortable. They slept in ice cold rooms when the air was sharp enough to close up a delicate lung, and yet they lived to good old age, and appeared to enjoy themselves with what they had, as much perhaps, as those with all the many comforts and luxuries of these days.
I am, your Grandfather
Thomas B. Leggett
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From: Leggett, David
Sent: Friday, March 18, 2011 1:34 PM
To: 'tabtash@att.net'
Cc: 'Julia Leggett'; 'John Leggett'; 'erleg@att.net'; 'mrobbins63@juno.com'
Subject: RE: E. Howard Leggett
Tabithathe photos arrived yesterday in fine shape. They are very well-preserved, and were just about all new to me, and one is the only image I`ve ever seen of Mary Leggett. And I`d never seen E. Howard and Howard C. in their youth and prime. We have the photo of Howard on horseback in 1941, though I don`t know if I had a date before. I`m letting everyone in the family know about the good news. Thanks again.
David
From: Leggett, David
Sent: Wednesday, March 16, 2011 12:07 PM
To: 'tabtash@att.net'
Subject: RE: E. Howard Leggett
Tabitha--I just realized that I was mistaken about it being eight years
it is nine years since we were first in touch. It`s 2011 already, not 2010. Just turned 50 myself back in January. My daughter was born in July 2001, so wasn`t even walking back then. Now she`s up on a horse. None of us are so close to horses as you are
living in the city, we are not even allowed to keep one. Fish in the pond outside, a parakeet inside, that`s about it.
WPS keeps all its horses, which is good, but does result in them dying peacefully in their stalls instead of somewhere else, so the kids are saddened when they do so. Just last year, the horse that was as old as me finally died. Max had worked up to the end, giving his back to the youngest riders just starting out. Several other old horses have passed from retirement since then. Those go to a rendering facility, as I understand. Last fall WPS rescued a pony from a farm where many horses had been kept in terrible conditions by a hoarder. Now you can`t see Teddy`s ribs anymore.
I`ll keep a lookout for the photos. I really appreciate your care and attention to preserving these things, and getting them to their next family home!
David
From: tabtash@att.net [mailto:tabtash@att.net]
Sent: Wednesday, March 16, 2011 10:27 AM
To: Leggett, David
Subject: Re: E. Howard Leggett
Good Morning,
I mailed the photos yesterday. I also included a brochure about our farm.
I have owned horses for 40 years/I'm 55. My husbabnd Tom and I have lived and owned horses, in Oakham for the past 25 years.
We trail ride, and on rare occassion will participate in horse shows.
Our youngest son, Mark, age 24, plays polo. He started in high school, and was on the Varsity Mens Intercollegiate Polo Team at the Un. of CT. Since graduating he has managed 2 different polo facilities. He dosen't follow the polo circuit to Florida during the winter, so his 4 horses have time-off at our farm, from Oct. until April/May. We also have 2 horses, that are permanant residents at our farm, and one horse that is with my sister in NY, being trained for dressage. All of our horses, except for one, are Thoroughbreds, that had short, unsuccessful racing careers, and were retrained for polo.
When made aware of a polo horse that is at high risk of being shipped for slaughter, we try to intervene. If we are able to secure the horse, we will bring it to our farm, or to another farm that we have on "stand-by". The horse is then assessed and either rehabilitated, rehomed or retired-sometimes all three!! . On rare occassion a horse may have to be euthanized.
We are also actively involved in educating the public about the cruelty of horse slaughter, and options for horses other than slaughter.
I was glad to see that Wheaton Park Stables keeps/retires their horses. More often than not, school and camp horses go to low-end auctions where they are sold for slaughter.
Well enough of this--Your daugher looks adorable riding Hamilton. He/she looks like a sweet horse.
If you ever have a few free moments you c an read some of my stories on www.stonybridgefarm.blogspot.com
I try to write something a couple times a month, and have been doing this for a couple of years.
Enjoy the photos and keep in touch.
Warmest Regards,
Tabby
Tabitha J. Tashjian
Stony Bridge Farm
Oakham, MA 01068
http://stonybridgefarm.blogspot.com We cannot save all the horses from slaughter, but know the joy of the ones we saved. Mourn those we cannot save. It is a eulogy to their being. Do not let their deaths be in vain.
Help us end horse slaughter Email: Ma4Horses@gmail.com www.americansagainsthorseslaughter.com www.BayStateEquineRescue.com ________________________________________
From: "Leggett, David" <David.Leggett@fns.usda.gov>
To: tabtash@att.net
Sent: Mon, March 14, 2011 11:02:00 AM
Subject: RE: E. Howard Leggett
Tabitha, these sound fascinating. Mary Leggett died at age 23 after suffering cancer which caused her to have a limb amputated. The aunt Lois thing doesn`t ring a bell with me. I`ll have to do some more research to see where she might fit in. It`s sad when photos aren`t labeled. I hope we don`t have too many of those among our stuff, but we all have some. We know perfectly well who they are, so why should we label them?!
I don`t have any Kiernans in my tree, so have no idea who the little girl might be.
Eight years go by, and the younger you are, I guess the faster it changes. Attached you will find a photo of my daughter Hannah on Hamilton. She`s been riding two years. Spring horse show is next Saturday. http://www.wheatonparkstables.com/home I`d be interested to hear about your horse activities.
Our address is:
2408 North Quantico Street
Arlington, Virginia 22207-1029
Thanks so much,
David
From: tabtash@att.net [mailto:tabtash@att.net]
Sent: Monday, March 14, 2011 10:31 AM
To: Leggett, David
Subject: Re: E. Howard Leggett
I am so relieved you answered my email.I can't believe it has been 8 years! I could not find your contact info in my email list, so looked up Howard Leggett, and got your email through RootsWeb.
The photos are wonderful. They include an 8x10 and 4x6 portrait of E.Howard Leggett, 2 6x8 portraits of Howard-1903, 2 photo Christmas cards of Howard-1939 and 1941--in one he is driving a goat cart, and the other he is riding a horse.; a 3x3 portrait of Mary Leggett dated Jan 1896, and a portrait of a woman with Aunt Lois on the back. It was with the Leggett photos so maybe she is a Leggett? The photographer for that photo was in Richmond, VA
Nanny/Gladys Olsen Sibley Died at age 103 on Feb. 8, 2010. She lived in her own home and then apartment until the last 3 months of her life. Her son, Robert C. Sibley/my dad/lives with me, so I got most of her belonging to sort through after she died. I'll be sorting photos for years. It is a shame that so many aren't labeled. There were even several tin-types, but with no labeling, I have no way to know who they are, other than to try and match them up with labeled photos.
Does the name Gail Marie Kiernan age 4 May 31, 1940 mean anything to you? I have this 4x6photo and the little girl is adorable. I hate to get rid of it.
If you would email me your mailing address I will promptly mail these photos to you.
Lets keep in touch.
Warmest Regards,
Tabitha
Tabitha J. Tashjian
Stony Bridge Farm
1148 Old Turnpike Rd
Oakham, MA 01068
http://stonybridgefarm.blogspot.com/ We cannot save all the horses from slaughter, but know the joy of the ones we saved. Mourn those we cannot save. It is a eulogy to their being. Do not let their deaths be in vain.
Help us end horse slaughter Email: Ma4Horses@gmail.com www.americansagainsthorseslaughter.com www.BayStateEquineRescue.com ________________________________________
From: "Leggett, David" <David.Leggett@fns.usda.gov>
To: tabtash@att.net
Sent: Mon, March 14, 2011 8:49:41 AM
Subject: RE: E. Howard Leggett
Tabitha, great to hear from you again! I just went through my records and found that it has been eight years since we emailed. It is very kind of you to want to reunite these photos with Howard`s closest family. I met cousin Howard Clapp Leggett once (Edward Howard Leggett was his father) back in 1965, in Goshen. I might have told you about thishe gave me a goat horn, which I have someplace. I will put the info down for Gladys. She did very well. I see in my old emails we were marveling at her advanced age eight years ago!
David
From: tabtash@att.net [mailto:tabtash@att.net]
Sent: Thursday, March 10, 2011 7:01 PM
To: Leggett, David
Subject: E. Howard Leggett
Hi,
I don't know if you remember me, but we communicated via email several years ago regarding family geneology.
My grandmother, Gladys D. Sibley died last February at age 103. I have inherited hundreds of old photos, several which are of E. Howard Leggett. Nanny referred to him as the "goat man", though I know he had horses.
I am hoping you get this email, as I would like to somehow get these photos to you.
Regards,
Tabitha
Tabitha J. Tashjian
Stony Bridge Farm
Oakham, MA 01068
http://stonybridgefarm.blogspot.com/ We cannot save all the horses from slaughter, but know the joy of the ones we saved. Mourn those we cannot save. It is a eulogy to their being. Do not let their deaths be in vain.
Help us end horse slaughter Email: Ma4Horses@gmail.com www.americansagainsthorseslaughter.com www.BayStateEquineRescue.com
Note: * 88-g8Le7 Howard8 Clapp Leggett, (E. Howard7, Thomas6 B., William5, T
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